


Monochrome

by oaken



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Episode Prompto DLC, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 02:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13847964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oaken/pseuds/oaken
Summary: A Promptis take on Episode Prompto that nobody asked for.





	Monochrome

**Author's Note:**

> For someone who loves Promptis as much as I do... I sure don't write about them enough. So I decided to fix that~

 

Prompto had never imagined Niflheim in pure whites he saw now. It was a pustule, a heart of darkness in the land of Eos. Something that should have been painted in the tones of blood, pitch, and ash. But there it was - sprawling ahead of him in the endless white of the snow. Eerily peaceful and quiet, and cold.

A smidge of heat seeped out from the mechanism of the snowmobile, a byproduct of its engine running smoothly even in the unforgiving temperature. Prompto clung to the warmth as much as he could, thighs pressed against the sides of the vehicle. It was all he could do to counter the wind and snow that whipped his face until it went numb. Despite his best efforts to keep warm, soon Prompto could no longer shift his expression without it becoming awkward and painful. Gloved hands gripped the handlebars of his vehicle a little tighter as the young man adjusted himself closer to the single whirring source of warmth he was seated on. 

Snowmobile turned out to be his only company in the vast expanse with no clear goal in sight. The loneliness of the place crawled further under his jacket with every few minutes passing without a change. Having finally unsettled Prompto and sneaked to his chest, it restlessly clawed at it to bury itself there. He didn’t allow it. With a set jaw and pursed lips, he kept his gaze straight ahead. Gralea. Aranea had said to go straight. She wouldn’t lie. The capital was bound to show up eventually.

It was not his destination that worried Prompto the most. It was what awaited there. What if the very same guys that were his beacon of light in this endless, ironically white darkness were to reject him as soon as they learned that he-? That he-... Ah!

Prompto shook his head and refocused his gaze ahead, trying to force a smile despite the stiffness of his frozen cheeks. A bit of pain the facial expression caused seemed to awaken his focus. As restless and anxious he felt, the primal need to survive somehow ended up being stronger still. So Prompto welcomed the shivers at snow thrown in his face by the wind and the ever-growing numbness of his fingertips.

But the struggle against the very nature of Niflheim soon became a memory. 

He was captured, hurt and forced into constraints like a hunted animal. The two guns he could wield were nothing against several dozens pointed at him from all sides by Imperial soldiers. A circle of death, of barrels pointed at his temples, enclosing around his head until the Chancellor’s mocking voice called for shackles instead of a bullet through his head. That was when they took away his vision, blindfolding him with a rough cotton rag.

Whatever struggle he put up was contained and overpowered. He only bloodied his knuckles against the sharp edges of the armor his Imperial captors wore. The dull end of the rifle hit the back of his head, and Prompto’s resistance ceased.

When his consciousness returned, the young man found himself a prisoner put on a lonely display. A strange contraption held him upright. It did not give any freedom to relax even when Prompto lacked the energy to stand any longer. Metal cut into his wrists whenever that happened, and sleep became a luxury he could afford no more than a few minutes at a time. But even those were torturous and left him more exhausted.

Bleeding, aching, hungry and cold. Mere hope was keeping Prompto alive as long hours trickled away like sand in an hourglass. It felt much longer than that, though. Like entire weeks that ate at him. He was trapped in the shadows where there was nothing but the flickering light shining through the bars and slight rattle of metal when he shifted in his constraints in a weak attempt to fight still. Worst of all was the dying hope, however.

Maybe they wouldn’t come for him. This place - it was giant, it groaned and heaved with doors opening and closing as soldiers marched through, bound to their routes. The echoes of their steps - the close ones and the far, faint ones and buzzing of the light fixtures were the only things breaking the silence. An entire world of steel and electricity that he was somewhere within. Finding him… It wasn’t impossible, he supposed. Every labyrinth was a challenge but not an insurmountable obstruction. But it wasn’t likely.

If they even would want to look for him.

A strained sound of pain left Prompto. The thought alone was enough to reignite the pain of bruises and cuts on his body. Marks that showed how he fought back - bloodied knuckles and chipped tooth that had hit the metal. Like it had out in the snow, the pain once again brought clarity, and Prompto lifted his head again, fighting the darkness in his own mind. He pulled the metal braces holding him in place.

The spirit of the warrior in him was not dead yet. Prompto kept clinging to the hope with a determination that did not leave him no matter how many hours passed. It seemed Ardyn found it amusing. While there were tools on the shelves the Chancellor could use to make Prompto speak, he didn’t. But the man’s laughter was almost worse than what the sharp and rusted things would likely be capable of. That and his own thoughts.

Hope was a fragile thing to hold on to. It cracked at the gentlest touch of doubt. And as much as Prompto wanted to keep his hope intact, it had the integrity of smoke in a wind. Mere tatters were left when shadows in his mind loomed longer.

So much time had passed. They were not coming, were they...? The despair won, and tears sprung to his eyes - helpless, bitter. It felt like he could drown in them. Perhaps he should.

The first shadow of doubt had been the worry that Gladio would find him a danger too great for the young king. Or, if that was not enough of a reason to ditch Prompto or even kill him, there were the injuries. Too weak to be useful to them any longer, unfit for Crownsguard. They had Ignis to look after already - someone far more valuable and worthy of the resources it would take to heal Prompto.

Ignis. The thoughts of him were the next to rob Prompto of a good chunk of his hope. Logic would dictate that there was no trusting anyone born in Niflheim, right? Well, that was exactly what he happened to be, apparently. Born? Made? ...Created. Created in this black hole of humanity with the sole purpose to power an unthinking killing machine. Who knew, maybe he still had the makings of one in him. A risk Noct's retainers wouldn’t be wise to wager easily.

The will to fight back against despair was fading. Prompto’s clenched fists lost their strength and hung limply from the metal shackles, his entire body was sluggish. But Prompto still hoped. His head had not dropped yet. Even through the aftermath of tears and the dull ache of irritated eyes. He stared ahead with the last sliver of hope in him burning bright like a wildfire. Blue gaze never once left the hallway in front of him.

Noctis. He believed in Noctis. 

But every shadow he saw turned out to be just another disappointment - heavy thuds of the footsteps. Metal, not human. No sight of Ardyn any longer either, the Chancellor had grown tired of him, it seemed. Just soldiers, more and more distant. The world of silence and buzzing of the lights around Prompto was expanding, making him feel small and lost.

It wasn’t the colors what made Niflheim so terrifyingly dark. The shiny metal, lights, and snow were just a facade under which the true danger hid. Questions this place whispered to him, the doubt and fear it poured into him. Like a poison from a silver chalice. And he’d drunk his heart full of it. Even the hope remained but a glimmer of its once powerful shine - just enough to remind him to keep breathing.

A strange thing happened when one stopped struggling. That which they had longed and hoped for entirely too long, broken their heart over, didn’t seem real any longer. Even when it came to fruition against all odds of the cruelty of fate. The desired seemed more a dream, a mere mockery of one’s own mind. That was how it felt when Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis stumbled into the room, and Noctis rushed to his side to pull the metal braces keeping him in place. Prompto’s own name, spoken in their voices again and again, seemed to come from a great distance.

Prompto blinked as he felt Noctis struggle against his constraints with brute force. Almost hesitant, Prompto turned his head to look at the other. Clenched teeth, furrowed eyebrows. The muscles of his arms strained to their limit. An angry hiss of defeat escaped Noctis when the contraption wouldn’t give in.

“There must be a switch to the mechanism around here,” Ignis offered the voice of reason.

It all started to clear up after that. This was not a dream, it lacked the haziness of one. So… They were real? The worry in their voices and the one creasing Noctis’ brows was real? Prompto bit down on his bottom lip to hold back a ragged sob of relief as a wave of emotion he could not put in words washed over him. A hitched breath came through his nose instead, and he blinked away the bit of moisture that had started to form in his eyes.

The release came mere moments later when Gladio found the lever to undo the constraints. Prompto had not expected how demanding the sudden freedom would be when his shackles didn’t keep him upright any longer. Pain and weakness sent Prompto falling to the ground as his body gave in to gravity without a fight.

Noctis tried to catch him but only managed to make the landing softer. Prompto hit the ground on his hands and knees with the other’s hand pressed against his chest, steadying him. Against Noctis’ palm, a heart pounded with newfound strength.

Questions if he was alright, if he needed help - Gladio and Ignis poured their worry out into the open. And then there was Noctis’ silent one - the hand had not left his chest. The three combined gave Prompto the strength to move and fight against the dull ache of every muscle in his body to straighten up even when the comforting safety of a hand on his heart finally left.

“I’m fine,” Prompto tried to assure, but even speaking cause pain. “Thank you, Noct.”

The blond pushed himself up from the floor. Standing seemed a little too adventurous so he remained on his knees - exhausted and relieved. They had found him. No, they- They had  _ looked _ for him. That meant even more.

“No sweat,” Noctis’ voice held something gentle in it.

And suddenly Prompto’s heart ached again. He’d heard Ardyn’s voice in the distance, echoing from speakers, too far for the words to be made out. Had he told them? The Chancellor liked these mind games, did he not?

Noctis was the worst liar he’d met so Prompto’s gaze drifted to him in search of the truth. The young king was still on one knee at his side, concern sharpening his soft features. Not a hint of ulterior motives on his face. But the question still spilled past Prompto’s lips.

“Tell me. Were you worried about me?”

A moment of silence followed that, and Prompto saw the other searching his face, trying to understand the reason for that query. The sincerity of his worry had not changed one bit, though. Noctis’ features twisted a little, as if in pain, guilt.

“Of course I was,” a heartfelt answer broke the silence. “What kind of question is that?”

Everything in Prompto warmed up despite the sting of cold still lingering in cheeks and fingertips. His heart felt like a small animal that had twisted in circles for so very long before finally settling down. A big part of the immense weight that dark secrets tended to create came toppling down from his shoulders. He could not help it. A soft huff of a laughter escaped Prompto.

“Of course. That’s why you came, like I believed you would.”

“Prompto...”

The same gentle tone of Noctis’ voice followed him as he stood up. It wormed its way past the defenses and worries that had kept Prompto’s feelings hidden away for long years. When he spoke, Prompto did so with trembling lips and honest words from the raw core of his soul where something fragile and precious had taken root without his knowledge or approval.

“That’s why I told myself I couldn’t die. Not until I could see you and hear you tell me I’m not a fake. That I’m the real me.”

There was so much more on the tip of his tongue at that moment. So many words Prompto dared not speak - an entire jumble of half-finished sentences and half-experienced emotions. He could not make sense of it, and he wasn’t sure if he even should. Noctis had just lost princess Lunafreya and still found it in his heart to worry about him. That alone was enough.

Reading the heartfelt apology on Noctis’ face about what he had said out loud before his mind had sidetracked him, Prompto couldn’t help but smile and feel his heart wrench. Old, warm feelings he only now dared to rediscover with a recognition of what they were. He was in love, had always been. And there was no way he could ever say it out loud.

Prompto parted his lips to say something else, anything else, not quite sure what it should be. He took a breath and decided. It had to be assurance. That he was alright, that they did not need to worry about him anymore. Something firm, a promise to stand by Noctis’ side through whatever it took to reclaim Lucis, to stop Niflheim, to-...

He never got to say it, any of it.

Half a second separated two states of being. At first, he was standing there, having swallowed his ill-timed confession for good and ready to swear fealty of his friendship and support to the king in his ascension. And then it all changed. The painful but determined decision of his heart turned to warm mush.

Noctis had not waited for the half-hearted words to come forth but instead dove forward with reckless abandon. The same arms that strained to free Prompto just minutes prior - wrapped around him. Prompto almost lost his footing so he took over, pulling the other closer and steadying him on his feet.

Seconds ticked away in silence, slow and full of feeling. Warmth. And something more - a feeling that the young king’s heart was overflowing with. The same one Prompto’s echoed.

Prompto’s eyes brimmed with tears, and he blinked them back, hands raising to return the embrace. Careful, almost afraid, he finally held Noctis in turn. The other didn’t jerk away from the touch, but a shiver ran along his spine as Noctis pressed his face further into his shoulder. 

The two retainers, while not agreeing with Noctis’ decision in this particular matter, did give him and Prompto space. They stepped out of the room in solemn silence, swallowing whatever protests they might have harbored. As foolish and young, and in love their king was, he was a king regardless, and his wishes were a law. 

As soon as the steps of the other two faded a bit, distance put between them, Noctis pulled back with a clear intention in his mind. But meeting Prompto’s gaze was enough to make him hesitate and grow shy. 

Prompto could see Noctis’ dark brows furrowing. He wanted to ask, but his throat felt dry and scratchy so he decided to wait it out instead. Every passing second of silence was painful, drawing them apart until Noctis looked him in the eyes again and stepped forward.

Nothing could have prepared Prompto for the gentle, nervous hands that cupped his face. But gentler yet than the hands were lips that pressed against his. Almost childish and scared at first, they brushed against his own with clumsy affection. Then Noctis threw away the remaining sliver of his hesitance and pressed into Prompto - lips and body alike. Their kiss deepened when Prompto’s eyes closed and he kissed back.

The monochrome burst into vibrant color. Dull red of dried blood around their injuries. Purples and yellows of bruises on their skin. Pale, cold fingers and red cheeks. And pink lips, warming against one another in the colorless world that felt a little less cruel for just a minute that day.


End file.
